Horror Story
by Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain
Summary: Hess's worst nightmare comes true.


Disclaimer: I do not own _Enterprise_ or its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Author's Note: No, this is still not the 'beginnings' one I've been promising. I'm working on it, I swear! (Chapter 1 is almost done and ready for betaing). Blame this on Rinne. Or at the very least go over there and read her stuff, she is absolutely _amazing_. And thank-you so, so, so much -- as always -- to my beta readers who make this possible.

**Horror Story**

There is something wrong today. I can sense it. Something dark, evil and sinister(1),(2) has occurred, and I'm not quite sure what it could be.(3) I check the ship's logs – nothing. I check the ship's communications – nothing. I check the ship's gossip: so far no one's heard anything yet, but there is a rather amusing one about Commander Tucker and a rash. I file that away for later. Now is not the time for amusement. Now is the time to be scared.

"Good morning, Lieutenant!" I scream and jump – I think I just ran into what's wrong.

"Good morning, Sir?" There _is_ something wrong with him. He seems happy. More than that, he seems happy to see _me_, and not in an 'I'm going to get you' kind of way.

"Isn't this just a wonderful day?" He's still smiling and his eyes have got that joyful glint.

"Are you all right, Captain?" Captain Archer is not normally like this. He's more the 'contented' happy kind of person, not the 'dancing in the halls' type happy. I'm smiling, because sometimes with crazy people it helps to smile and remain calm while you're looking for the way out.

"You know, I try to make an effort to know all the members of my crew." I'm trying to get down to Engineering, and the captain has fallen into step beside me. Given that I'm four-foot-ten, and he's six-foot-giant, it's rather hard for him, so he solves it by taking a step forward, then a small step back. This _does_ give the impression that he's dancing in the hallways. This is _very_ odd… normally I'd be having to try to keep up. "Well, the senior officers, especially, but I'd like to think I know _all_ my people, best as possible. We're just one big happy family here."

"I hope not, sir." I'm from a family of cops – I can tell you a few things about happy families, and the blood-spatter patterns left on the wall. The thought of a 'happy family' of eighty-plus people confined to a small space like a starship with no place to escape, and being forced to have to listen to them as they bitch and complain and boss you around… My fists begin to clench just thinking about it.

"And I realised, Lieutenant, that we barely know each other at all. And you _are_ my second in command in Engineering. If Trip is off duty or otherwise incapacitated – well you are essentially my chief engineer then, aren't you?" He spins around and starts walking backwards. "Which means that I should make an effort to… expand our relationship. Don't you think that's the case, Nic? Can I call you Nic?"

"If you wish, sir." With Commander Tucker, it's only 'Nicci' – when he's asleep, drunk, or otherwise unconscious,(4) or he thinks I'm not there – and 'Hess' to my face, when he's sober. Only people who don't really know me call me Nic.(5) Nic sounds good to me. I consider paging Dr. Phlox, but I'm willing to bet that he already knows. Only drug side-effects could produce something like this. Likewise, Commander Tucker – I don't know if he knows, yet, but I'd never hear the end of it. As for Lieutenant Reed… well, he'd probably assume that it was the _captain_ in danger, not me. And then the captain would probably visit me in the brig, and I wouldn't be able to get away. It's not April first or October thirty-first, so this _can't_ be one massive practical joke, it's not my birthday, so the same thing there. The only conclusion I can come to is that this is dreadfully and horribly _real_.

"I know, traditionally, I've gone for breakfast as a way of introduction, but given that you've taken the swing-shift… have you eaten yet, Nic? Because you _can_ join me for dinner…"

"Commander Tucker and I sharing a meal-table is not generally a good thing, sir." Usually we don't get much beyond the water-fight, but given Captain Archer's mood it might devolve into flight-capable entrees.

"I don't have to have dinner with Trip," he waves his hand dismissively. "I can always tell him that I'm having dinner with you instead."

"Actually, sir, I have already eaten," I lie. I do take over when Commander Tucker is incapacitated, which is why I _don't_ want to risk his permanent incapacitation through heart-attack. I don't want to be the one in charge – especially if that means more opportunities for something like this.

I step onto the turbolift, and predictably, the captain follows. "Oh, well… I'm sure we can think of something." The doors close and we begin to drop… and stop.

"Um…" I check the doors, but they're definitely not opening. "There's something wrong here."

"Really?" The captain leans over my shoulder. "What?"

"We're stuck." I hit the comm button, but there's no response. I hit it a couple more times to be sure, then bang my head against the doors. "We're stuck, and we're incommunicado."

"Perfect!" Captain Archer claps his hands together and grins. "Tell me about yourself, Nic. Nic… is that short for Nicole?"

"Good guess, sir." I start pulling off the panel for the lift controls. As soon as I break the seal, I can see why we're not moving. A small puff of black smoke escapes, and I can smell burnt electronics.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a communicator. They're supposed to be used only on expeditions, but in Engineering, a thirty-metre trip down a Jeffries(6) tube qualifies as an expedition. You never know what will go wrong. Besides, these aren't standard issue. They've been in Engineering for too long. Normally I wouldn't risk the captain knowing about unauthorised acquisitions, but this is an emergency and I have no intention of _remaining_ incommunicado – especially if Captain Kangaroo here is calling it 'perfect.'

"We have a situation in Turbolift three. Things are fried down here, and we're not going anywhere." One of these puppies lights up, and the computer definitely tracks it as an engineering crisis.

"How fried?" I've never been so glad to hear Rossie in my entire life.

"Fried, fried. Smokin'." The captain is getting an education in Engineering terminology. "We're looking at terminally toasted here. This is definitely a TR with complications."

"TR?" The captain lifts the communicator out of my hands and looks it over, like he's never seen one before.

"Total Replacement." I snatch it back. "Oh, and the captain is in here with me. And he's sick."

"Getting right…"

The captain leans in close to the communicator. "Belay that, Mister Rostov. I am not sick. Lieutenant Hess here is just suffering from symptoms of claustrophobia."

"I am not claustrophobic, Rossie. He's confusing me with Ensign Sato." It does feel a little trap-like in here, though.

"How?" Rossie sounds confused, which is perfectly normal for him. "I mean, you're both short, but Ensign Sato has dark hair and works in Communications, and you have… you have… hair(7), and work in Engineering."

"I meant personality-wise, you idiot. Like I said, Rossie, the captain is sick."

"I am not sick, Mister Rostov. You can ask Doctor Phlox." Captain Archer keeps smiling, but now it's smug.

"Well, we'll try to get a team down to you, but in the meantime, sit tight. We've had a few more malfunctions, and it may take a bit."

"I don't _have_ a bit!" I scream. "This man is deranged!"

Captain Archer relieves me of the communicator again. "Lieutenant Hess is just under a bit of stress," He says calmly. "I assure you, we are perfectly fine." He closes the communicator and tucks it into his back pocket, where I'm not willing to go after it. "We're going to be okay, Nic. They're a good crew. Just take deep, calm breaths."

"Sir… you are not well. We should get you to medical attention." I back away from him, but run into wall.

"You're the one who seems upset and stressed. We just have a bit of a wait here. Why don't we pass the time by getting to know each other?"

"The escape hatch!" I look up at the ceiling. That centre panel is designed to come open and allow access to the emergency ladder. Unfortunately, like I said, I'm four-ten, and the turbolift ceiling is significantly higher than that.

"It's far simpler to sit and wait." The captain disagrees. He's the only thing in here that would allow me to _reach_ said escape hatch, which pretty much blows that plan out of space. "Now, tell me about yourself. You have five brothers?"

"That's correct, Sir. But I only usually count three or four of them at a time." It makes it far easier to deal with.

"Okay." He knits his brow, trying to figure it out. "And you're from Atlanta?"

"Yes, sir. Well, the outskirts, sir. We needed space."

"And your father's a lawyer." He sits down crosslegged, and is now looking up at me.

"Yes, Sir."

"Call me Jon." He pats the floor beside him. "Come on, sit down. It's far more comfortable, and I promise that I don't bite."

That hasn't exactly been my experience, but I decide that now is not a good time to correct him. "I'm all right, Sir."

"Sure?" He starts drumming on his knees. And his arms, and his chest, and the floor… if I were close enough, I think he'd use my head for a cymbal. His rhythm isn't bad, but he's no Keith Moon, either. "Because you look like you're a little tense." He smiles. "You should relax. That level of tension isn't good for you."

"No, Sir." I know this level of tension isn't good for me, but you never let your guard down when dealing with the delusional.

"Why did you choose to go to Cal _and_ Stanford?" he asks. "We've got a great engineering program at Stanford – it would have been much easier."

"It was just something I decided to do, Sir." It made for a little bit more of a challenge, but I enjoy having fun. Usually the captain is in heavy denial that I'm a Stanford girl. Which only makes this another sign that he's not well.

"Hmmn. Well, it just seems like an odd thing to do, to me."

If this were Commander Tucker, I'd be commenting that I didn't do it to him, but I decide that with Captain Archer,(8) it's best to keep my mouth shut.

He taps on my boot – his long arms mean that he doesn't have to be that close, and technically, he's got me trapped. "I thought you were the talkative type, Nic. You're even more close-mouthed than Malcolm."

I could make some comments about our beloved armoury officer at the moment, but it might be used against me in the future. Instead, I find myself wishing a radioactive spider could bite me, because wall climbing might come in handy at the moment.

"Come on, Nic." He shakes my leg a bit. "You can do better than this."

No, I can't. I'd rather be trapped in here with an anti-tank weapon toting, zombie Klingon than this. I mean, I could _hit_ an anti-tank weapon toting, zombie Klingon, but I'd hate to see the look on the court's face when I inform them that I decked my captain because he was being nice.

"Do you like sports?" I swear he's trying to find some commonalities between us. Everybody knows he was a big-time water-polo player, and I know he was a small-time baseball player, so maybe he figures we can get talking about that.

"Only hockey, sir." It's true.

"You're from _Georgia_, Lieutenant. They don't have a hockey team."

Technically, they've got several. It's a major league professional one(9) that's lacking. "They did once, sir. The Flames were from Atlanta before they moved to Calgary." I mean, that's why they were called the _Flames_. As far as I know, Calgary isn't that well known for being set on fire.

"Seems odd." He mutters. Fortunately, he doesn't seem all that interested in hockey, himself. Then again, given that he classed a country with 9,978,653 square kilometres of territory, ranging from the 49th parallel on up – which means southern Ontario is a footstep away from his own birth-place of Upstate New York – as simply 'cold,' I don't think he's too up on anything Canadian.(10)

With sports out, he begins casting around for another conversational topic. "What made you decide to become an engineer?"

"I was too short for the police department, Sir." My answer makes him laugh, which is not what I intended.

"See? That's what I'm talking about, Nic." He grins even wider, something I didn't think was possible. "And I told you to call me Jon."

"I can't, sir. Bad memories associated with that name." Bad memories from right now. This is my captain. This is the man who is usually out to get me. I cannot even _conceive_ of calling him by his first name. I don't call _Commander Tucker_ by his first name, or his nickname,(11) either. And _we're_ friends.

The captain suddenly looks very sympathetic. "I'm sorry about that. Was it someone close to you?"

"Very." Especially since he's just patted me on the foot.

"Well, that's okay then." He smiles, that smile he uses when he wants to tell you that everything's going to be all better. "I was just trying to make you comfortable."

"Yes, sir." I wipe my sweaty palms off on my coveralls. I hope Rossie went and got Commander Tucker. Commander Tucker would work to get us out of here, because I _know_ Commander Tucker likes both of us, and wouldn't want to see either of us get hurt.

The captain giggles. "You should have seen Trip, earlier. I mean, the doctor only gave me the medication as a precaution, but Trip…"

Uh-oh. I suddenly have a sinking feeling that this is connected to Commander Tucker's mysterious rash. And if Captain _Archer_ is out of it…

"Phlox _says_ those kinds of reactions to," he stumbles over the word, and I can't quite make it out, but I think it's a Denobulan delicacy, "are extremely rare. I didn't know Trip was that good of a singer."

He does have a good voice, but there are times when his tune carrying abilities are questionable(12). Then again, given Captain Archer's current state, I think he'd consider an off-key rendition of 'That's Amore' to be comparable to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing Handel's 'Messiah.'

"So, what you're telling me, Sir, is that you're on drugs." It's nice to be right about at least one thing today.

"That is a reprehensible thing to say. Dr. Phlox just suggested I take the rest of the day off. I am not impaired, I feel better than I have in years."

That revelation doesn't surprise me. My very existence is the result of painkillers and my mother's 'feeling good.'(13) "Sir, you just winked at me. That is not a good thing."

"I intended nothing by it." On this point I believe him. Even those kind of drugs don't change the laws of attraction _that_ much. I am not his type – Captain Archer isn't that interested in women who could beat him up. I don't think he likes the spikes(14) too much, either. As for me… he's old enough to be my father.

"I know Sir, but even the fact that it happened is cause for concern."

"You're being silly, Nicci-girl." He pats my boot again. "There is nothing wrong with me." He contradicts his statement by bursting into giggles.

"Help!" Maybe if I scream loud enough, someone will hear me. "Help me!"

"Relax," he soothes. Or at least thinks he does. "They'll get us out soon. Then we can have our dinner."

"HELP!!!" I start banging on the walls, and he springs to his feet.

"It's okay, really it is." He takes me by the shoulders and bends down to look me in the eye. "We're going to be okay."

I feel myself passing out, and he catches me. The last thing I see before it all goes black, is Captain Archer smiling down at me like a dentally-deficient vampire. And then I'm out.

I wake up to find us still trapped in the turbolift. He's laid me out on the floor, and decided to use his shirt to make a pillow. Which means – of course – he's no longer wearing it. Two thoughts flash across my mind. One is that he's in damn good shape for someone his age, and the second is that I'm trapped in a turbolift with a drug-addled, half naked captain. I sit bolt-upright, knowing that my only other option is to pass out again. Who knows what he'll decide is good for me then.

"I called and said that you'd fainted." He looks rather proud of himself for thinking that up. "They said they'd be here as soon as possible."

"I did not faint. I lost consciousness." Next thing, he'll be saying I swooned.

"I'm sorry. I forgot. Trip said you can be sensitive about things like that." He pats me on the head. "But they'll get here soon enough."

"I am _not_ sensitive. Commander Tucker is sensitive." Commander Tucker cries at sad movies. I just laugh.(15)

"Okay." Now he's patronising me. I _hate_ that, more than anything. I mean, I threatened to bounce Captain Jeffries out of Starfleet for that, I beat up a MACO over that… but Captain Archer has the excuse of being on drugs.

"Sir… my name is not Porthos." I could bite his fingers off, though.

"I know." At least he stops patting me on the head. "You're cute enough to be a puppy, though."

"I will try to remember that you are mentally incapacitated at the moment, Sir." Otherwise that is far too insulting for me to tolerate. I cannot _stand_ being referred to as cute. On the other hand, I'm too irritated to be scared. Then…

"This is wonderful. You're talking to me." Captain Archer sits down again, looking like an over-grown kid at Story Time. "So… what else can you tell me about yourself?"

"Helllp!!!" They've got to get here soon. I mean I'll take Malcolm at this point. I don't _care_ what he'd have to say about the situation, just as long as he gets me out of it. "Somebody, please help me!" Why couldn't he have just started channelling a serial killer or something?

"Come on. Let's not do this again. How about we do this another way. I'll tell you something about myself, and you can tell me something about yourself. Okay?"

"Noooo. Nonononononononononononononononono." I wish this was a dream, and I could just stop it, or be safe in the knowledge that I would soon wake up. But this is all too real and horrible.

Then I feel it – we're moving again. I jump to my feet and race all two steps to the doors. After an eternity of two seconds, they open, and I see the most beautiful site in the world: Rossie's slightly confused face.

It gets more confused when I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around him in a hug. "Save me. He's completely lost it; you've got to help me."

"I think she should see a doctor," the captain says, helpfully. "She's been acting rather strangely."

I take one look at him and start to run. Unfortunately, it's straight into Malcolm.

"Are you okay, sir?" He grabs my arm, halting me, but his question is directed at Captain Archer.

"I'm very concerned about Lieutenant Hess. She seems very stressed."

If anyone might believe me, it's Malcolm. "He was talking to me," I hiss. "He was being _friendly_."

"He's a very friendly person," Malcolm says. "I think he's right. You should probably see the doctor."

"I am _not_ the one who's crazy!" I point a shaking hand at Captain Archer. "He's the one who's on drugs. He was asking me about myself! He invited me to dinner!"

"I had breakfast." Malcolm says. "Twice, in fact."

"Yes, but he _likes_ you." I'm beginning to think that the drugs have nothing to do with it at all. It's a strange alien virus that's making its way through the crew, starting with the senior officers. That has to be it.

"Hess, are you sure you didn't hit your head when you fainted?"

That does it. When Malcolm gets concerned about me, it's definitely crisis time. I hit him as hard as I can in the ribs and start running again. He can't follow me, because I definitely broke a couple of those ribs – the floater ones snap easily. There's only one place left to hide, only one place safe.

The lock gives me trouble, but finally the door hisses open. Mainly because he opened it from the inside. "Hess?"

"Oh, thank God. You're okay. At least mostly." At least he's calling me Hess.

He grins. "Kinda. Hey, what're you doing?"

"Playing hide and seek with Malcolm and Archer." I slip past him and look around. I'm not worried about a friendly Commander Tucker, at least that's fairly predictable.

"Can I help?" On the other hand, it's hard to say if he's infected as well. I wish again for zombies – at least you can tell them on sight from the other people.

"Of course you can." I drag his desk chair over to his closet and use it to climb up on the top shelf, arranging some of the stuff to hide me. "You can put the chair back and close the door."

"Okay." He does what I ask, and then I do the stupidest thing in the world. I fall asleep.

It takes me a couple of minutes to figure out where I am when I wake up. Then I realise that it's the brig. Obviously, the big dummy gave me away, or they found me anyway. Then it hits me that I'm not alone – Captain Archer is watching me from the other side of the door.

"Can you give me one good reason that I shouldn't have you up on charges, Lieutenant?" I nearly cry(16) with relief when I hear his voice. He sounds pissed off with me.

"Because Lieutenant Reed was assaulting me, Sir?" Legally, merely touching someone without their permission qualifies as assault. It feels good to be back on familiar, antagonistic ground.

"Doctor Phlox tells me that you were suffering from extreme hypertension. He claims that you might not have completely been in control of your actions. However, Lieutenant Reed was seriously injured as a result of those actions."

I realise that if I say anything now, it will only make me sound more insane. Or worse, that I'm _trying_ for a mental defect defence.

"As a result of the extenuating circumstances, I am _not_ going to press charges against you." Since he's back to his normal self, I brace for the second set of words, starting with, "_However_, I cannot allow those actions to go unpunished." I have to wonder what he'll do – so far I've survived reprimand, confinement to quarters, and – albeit barely – lecture. "I am temporarily removing you from Engineering and assigning you to a new department."

"New department, Sir?" I run over Starfleet case law in my mind, trying to determine if he can to that.

"It's only temporary, Lieutenant. And I've checked, there's nothing that stops me from doing so."

"What department, Sir?" I can't think of what else I'm qualified to do. I'm an engineer, I do engineering.

The captain smiles, and it's his dangerous smile. He taps the comm, and the doors slide open to reveal Malcolm. He looks like he's in a bit of pain, and it's clear from the way that his uniform fits that his ribs have been taped.

"Lieutenant Hess," the captain indicates Malcolm with a flourish, and confirms that this nightmare isn't yet over. "Meet your new boss."

I can't help it. I start screaming.

* * *

1 No offence to left-handers. Most I've met are very nice people. 

2 This is the problem with knowing a little too much Latin.

3 Lately, something dark, evil, and sinister has happened to us almost every week. I think by now, normalcy would scare us.

4 What can I say, the man is talented. He's been known to operate without brain-function at all.

5 Lieutenant Reed occasionally goes with 'Scarlett' but that's another story entirely A/N: _The Non-Existent Enterprise General Strike_ to be exact.

6 Why they had to name something after such an idiotic, boorish, annoying, offensive, nasty-minded, petty little man, I'll never know. And Commander Tucker will probably get nothing.

7 Hey, even I don't know what colour my hair is going to be until I get it done. Commander Tucker lets me get away with it because he likes me. Captain Archer lets me get away with it because he likes Commander Tucker, and doesn't want to see him cry. Starfleet lets me get away with it… well I suspect it's because my godfather is head of the Senate sub-committee that oversees Starfleet funding. But I do know that they were very eager to hand me the opportunity to ship out.

8 Even though he's _acting_ like Commander Tucker

9 Then again, after the NHL collapse in 2011, the WHL meltdown in 2019, and the GHL disaster in 2102… there isn't much professional hockey anywhere, anyway.

10 I am, but I have relatives there. People who think it's all about snow should spend a few weeks in August hanging around Toronto. If they don't drown in their sweat puddle, they can relate to you their new epiphany.

11 Given the fact that most people use his nickname, it's sometimes assumed that he really _is_ named Trip, and they don't believe him when he tells them that legally he's a Charles.

12 Like when he tries to serenade me while incredibly drunk. Which is usually followed by a marriage proposal – generally because his current someone just dumped him – which is _always_ followed by me dumping him in a body of water. He even followed me all the way to the Academy pool once, and stood and watched while I picked the locks. Afterwards, I just take him home and wait until he sobers up enough to take it back.

13 Not that I'm complaining about the existence part or to say that that is only way my mother and father can… well, five brothers. She didn't get shot _that_ much.

14 Either the ones sometimes in my hair, or the ones I wear in my quasi-punk mode. What can I say? I don't hew to normal.

15 Well, I cried during that movie when Gonzo thought he was a misfit and got all depressed, but what can I say? I was six. And it was _Gonzo_. Everybody cries when their hero gets hurt.

16 Not that I cry… any more than I faint.


End file.
